


(Atavan Halen)

by mushroomnoodles



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M, suicide attempt (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushroomnoodles/pseuds/mushroomnoodles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick is depressed and Pete's angry at himself for not knowing what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Atavan Halen)

**Author's Note:**

> This was a part of a longfic I was working on but completely lost when my tablet died.   
> Please let me know what you think!

When Patrick came home, it was past eleven. I was strumming the guitar, which was weird, as it was something Patrick would do. He opened the door and whispered something that resembled a weak ‘hi’, between heavy breaths – sure enough, he hadn’t taken the elevator. I looked at him and raised a hand towards him. He sank onto the couch.

No one of us said anything.

I was tired and I didn’t have enough energy to fight him.

Eventually, Patrick turned on the TV on some music channel; he kept the volume low. I had stopped playing.

I was too tired to organize my thoughts so I let them run free. I let them poke around my memories, our memories; I thought of the first time I saw him, of how enchanted I was with the way he sang. I remembered our first kiss, the exact moment I understood our relationship had become the most precious thing in my life.

The first time we made love. I had been his first. And his last, too.

Then I remembered my pain, how things had changed for me in that period. I needed him more than I needed air.

When he wasn’t with me, when I couldn’t touch him, I was a flower exposed to a hailstorm. I used to hold on to the thought of him in my heart, and usually, I managed to resist until he’d come back.

Once, though, thinking about him was not enough, and I found my only solace in my Ativan; I almost died.

He was the one to save me. He had found me on the roof of the hotel we were staying in, lying on the floor; a paralyzing pain absorbed all the strength, all the energy from every single fiber of my body. I was in a trance; if I had let go of that little bit of consciousness I had left, it would have been the end.

I’d focused on him. He was pale, and when he grabbed his phone to call 911, I noticed his voice was trembling. He was sobbing, even – maybe, I’m not sure.

I could feel his heart beat, fast, loud through his chest when he picked me up to take me inside the building.

 _‘Stay here, Pete, please,’_ he repeated, among breathless sobs. _‘My love.’_

When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics took me away from his arms and the world became black.

During the days, the weeks - the months, even, before that episode, I was barely eating. I didn’t want to live. I wanted to destroy my existence, that I despised so much, and all those illnesses that bruised my mind.

I realized I was teary-eyed when I came back to reality. Usually, I never thought about those times. It hurt.

Patrick was now asleep, TV still on, jacket still on his shoulders.

I got up, turned off the TV, and I kneeled in front of his face. I wondered if his sick thoughts had turned into nightmares, or if they were granting him a reprieve.

***

_Pete, it isn’t your fault. It isn’t your fault._

It was my fault.

I was impotent. I knew Patrick’s demons like the back of my hand, yet I could do nothing about them. I hadn’t been able to save him; I couldn’t give back what he had given me when pain devoured me alive.

Between the two of us, mist had insinuated; I could no longer hear him on the other end of the line.

It was my fault.


End file.
